Reminders
by pharo
Summary: It hurts to remember her.


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Reminders

Author: Pharo

Disclaimer: 'Alias' belongs to ABC, Bad Robot, and JJ Abrams.

Summary: It hurts to remember her.

Spoilers: "Double Agent".

Feedback: pharo@newyork.com

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'you know what I mean when I say that I come from a place that hurts, you fit in my scene, try to make everything work…' –Something Corporate, _'When It Goes Down'_

He tries to think back to the last time that he felt remotely good about anything and realizes that he doesn't remember. 

He can't remember the little things anymore. He thinks that's the price that he has to pay for not living the movie life. He can remember the click of a gun and the fifteen different ways to render a man unconscious, but he can't, for the life of him, remember what the last sunset looked like. 

He can't think back to a time where it was peaceful enough for him to allow himself to be happy. He's developed a tendency to constantly be on the lookout. The agency tells him that it's the mark of a truly superb agent, but he knows that they can't possibly know how scary it is to be unable to trust anyone. They can't possibly place themselves in his shoes when all they do is sit behind desks, sip coffee, and supervise. It is only natural that they deem it his paranoia as something to be proud of. He's bitter because they can sit there and watch agents risk their lives. They can say things like, "keep your emotions in check," and "you need to move on, son," because they don't know – don't _feel _– his pain. They know nothing about the world out there – his world.

He hates those men for their ignorance. They can close their eyes and put on blinders to what is happening in the field because they are not there. They don't see what he sees.

"Jim, I'll be right back, ok?"

He looks up and realizes that she's still here. He doesn't even remember when she came or how long she's been sitting at the table with him. 

"You have to do what you have to do," he says, fighting the urge to jumble his words together. 

She pats the back of his hand on her way out of the kitchen. 

She's nice and maybe, in another time, there could've been more, but now, every face he sees belongs to Emma and it is no different with her. 

"Damn it," he mutters at the empty bottle. 

He moves slowly and stumbles on his way to the cabinet to retrieve another complimentary bottle of vodka from the CIA. He grins at the theory that maybe they wanted him to drown his misery in alcohol. 

As he examines the bottles, he hears her hushed whispers on the phone.

"I know we've got guys who are paid to do help him, but I can't just – I was him once. I know what's he's going through."

He makes up his mind to tell her to leave when she comes back to the kitchen. He doesn't want her help or the responsibility to get better that comes with it. He doesn't need another person to let down. He can't—

"Damn it!" he shouts as the bottle crashes onto the counter. 

She is in the room a second later asking him what happened. He waves his left hand around the mess and watches the alcohol spill over the edge of the counter and onto the floor. 

"Sorry."

"You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It just slipped from my hand."

"Well, let me help you clean this up."

"No," he says quickly. "No, it's ok. You just…just go home. I'll take care of this."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I just – I need to be alone right now."

"I've done this before, Jim. It's always better if you have people—"

"No, it's better this way for me. Really, you shouldn't have to be here."

"But I am so why don't you just let me help you?"

He sighs.

"I don't need your help, Sydney."

"I know you don't, but it'll make me feel better," she says with a smile.

"Ok fine, but after this, you're going home."

She nods.

"I think I saw some towels in the bathroom," he says. "I'll go get them."

He walks down the little hallway to the bathroom and squeezes his eyes shut before turning on the light. He opens them slowly, one by one, but it doesn't help dull the pain at the brilliant white. He mutters a curse as his eyes slowly adjust to the glaring colors. 

"Towels, towels," he mutters repeatedly to help him remember why he's in the room. "Where are the stupid towels?"

He starts to look around for a stack of white when he notices the shower curtains. He freezes as he takes in the yellow background with a hideous shade of green for the flowers. He blinks a couple of times, thinking it's a cruel joke his mind is playing on him, but they are still there when he opens his eyes.

__

"We'll have a little house with white picket fences and a small rose garden. And we'll have stairs leading up to the bedrooms and a little hall. And the bathroom will have those shower curtains with flowers and butterflies. It'll be so great, Jim."

The tears start to surface as he leans against the hamper and feels the handle dig into his back, smells the pine of the cleaning solution they used on the bathroom. It's all too real for him to take in at once as he thinks that their life could've gone something like this. 

"Hey Jim, I found some spare towels," Sydney's voice calls out.

He scrambles to shut the door.

"I'll be right out," he says in his best attempt to sound like he hasn't just broken down.

He breathes in deeply. The pine smell is suddenly nauseating to him and he knows he has to get out of the bathroom before he loses it again. He urges himself to his feet and manages to make it out of the bathroom and down the hall in a few seconds.

"So where were the towels?" he asks, leaning his hand against the frame for support; he ran out of that bathroom way too fast.

"Linen closet."

"Linen closet, right. I have to…have to remember that."

"I think it helps if you're not getting loaded," she says with a laugh.

"I suppose it does," he says.

"Here," she says handing him a mug.

"I guess it'd be hoping for too much to think there's vodka in here?"

"Black coffee."

"Ok, thanks. I'll see you later then," he says.

It takes a tremendous amount of effort to be strong and he doesn't have much left. He silently prays that she'll leave so he can slump down and be free to self-destruct.

"Agent Bristow? Agent Lennox?"

He follows her out of the kitchen into the living room. Two men in suits point their guns at them.

"What the hell—"

"Against the wall," one of them orders.

"What's going on?" she asks.

"Please just back up against the wall."

He looks at her and she seems to be just as confused as he is. 

"What's happening, Sydney?"

"I don't know."

One of the men try to take his arm and he pushes him to the floor. He manages to grab the other man's gun in the process.

"I want some answers right now," he shouts at the other guy, pointing the barrel at him.

"Put the gun down, Agent Lennox."

"What are you doing here?"

"Agent Lennox—"

"You do not want to test me right now," he shouts impatiently. "Now what the hell is going on?"

"Lennox, don't be stupid."

"All right, that's it. Stay down. Stay down!" he exclaims, his mind spinning. "Sydney, go. Go, go, go! You, stay. Sydney, go now!"

She puts her hands up slowly and starts to make her way to him.

"Sydney, come on. Put your hands down," he says softly, wondering if she's afraid that he'll shoot her. 

He wonders if he really seems that crazy to her. He slowly backs out of the safe house and toward the CIA-issued vehicle.

"Here's where I leave," he says. 

"I'm going with you."

"No, you're not. I can't get you into this, especially if I'm evading the CIA."

"I am opting to go."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am," she says, opening the passenger door.

"Sydney—"

She's already in the car before he can say anything else. He sees the agents coming through the door and quickly gets in the car.

"Drive," she says.

"For the record, this is a really bad idea," he says as he backs out of the space.

"Noted."

He can hear the two agents screaming as they drive away. 

The first couple of minutes are silent as he tries to figure out what he's doing. He has nowhere to go, no plans on what to do – he is the epitome of a bad agent.

"I'm calling Vaughn."

"No."

"I can trust him."

"But can I trust you?" he asks.

"I'm trusting you. I would hope that you'd trust me."

"Fine," he says, not sure if it's a good idea.

She dials his number and he wonders if they have some special code. For all he knows, she's calling to give him a location that they can track.

"Vaughn, what the hell is going on?"

He can't make out anything Agent Vaughn is saying.

"They barged in," she says. "Yeah, I'm fine, but I need to know what's going on. What? No, he's – ok, ok."

She ends the call and looks at him.

"We have to go back," she says.

"We're not going back."

"We have to."

"It's not happening."

"They just want an optical scan, Jim. That's all and then you're in the clear."

"What?"

"They think there might be someone else with your face."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I trust you."

He sighs before making a U-turn and heading in the direction they came from.

"They think I killed her?"

"No one thinks—"

"I'd never do that! I loved her, Sydney," he says angrily. 

"I know. They just want some proof. You know how the agency is."

He nods. After all these years, they still don't have any faith in him. The CIA looks out for no one else but the CIA. Agents risk their lives and agents die and they shake their heads and claim they are sorry, but they don't really care.

"You don't just blow up the person you love." 

"Jim, I believe you."

He wipes at his eyes and makes silent promises to remain strong.

"She was good for me, you know. I mean, I loved her. She made everything so perfect, made the world look so much brighter when she was around. I looked at her and it felt like we were normal. It made me believe that everything could work out."

"Emma was a good person, Jim."

"Did you know her?"

"I set up an op for her in Bombay once. She was part of extraction and she seemed…nice."

He smiles at that.

"Yeah, she was nice. Every morning, she would feed the pigeons breadcrumbs. It didn't matter where in the world we were because it was this routine for her. She carried a little packet of crumbs on every mission. She'd leave the hotel room and walk to a nearby park or fountain and feed the pigeons," he says. "And now, I'm thinking, who's going to feed them? Who's going to take care of everyone if she's not here?"

He looks out the window as they approach the stop signal so he won't have to look at her.

"You will, Jim."

"What if I can't?"

"She loved you for a reason. You'll be able to."

They drive in silence for another ten minutes. 

"Jim, this is the wrong exit," she says when he make a left.

He nods.

"I know, but there's this clearing and I just…I haven't watched the sunset in so long." 


End file.
